In The Name Of
by Vroomfondel
Summary: Science or love? This isn't about feelings. This is about gathering empirical data and overcoming a weakness, a blindspot. If this is the case then how come the further Sherlock pursues his experiment the more lost he becomes?
1. Chapter 1

For those who are interested, I haven't forgotten about my other story at all! I plan to update it this week. But this plot has been kicking around and I wanted to start posting it on here. Basically it is taken from the clichéd and normally cracktastic prompt of "Sherlock and John have sex for science." The twist is I am writing it as seriously and realistically as I can. It is also written from Sherlock's POV, which is fun, but challenging. Anywho, please read and review! I appreciate all comments and suggestions! This is set after The Hounds of Baskerville, but before The Reichenbach Fall.

Title: In The Name Of

Rating: Overall is M, but this section is PG-13 at most. M because Sex and Drugs. No Rock n' Roll, although I might have Sherlock play something on his violin later.

Pairing: John/Sherlock

Disclaimer: I own nothing, but this laptop.

Come downstairs. Urgent

-SH

I had the message typed out hours before I sent it. However, I waited until after John had come back, showered, and had a chance to sit down. I have found that, in order to prevent unnecessary conflict between us, John needs a requisite 22 minutes from the time he comes home until he can be disturbed by me. Today, I even graciously add five minutes to that time. Well, perhaps it is not gracious since his happiness is crucial for my latest experiment. And John chides me for having no patience! I always have patience when it comes to my work.

I press send and listen as John shifts on his bed to reach the phone on the nightstand. I smirk when immediately I hear his footfalls heading towards the door.

I had successfully solved a case as of 10:54pm last night. It was particularly difficult, so I am still on a bit of a high from the success. And the early hour at which it was solved meant that John got a good night's rest leaving him well-prepared for work. This always puts him in good humor. In general, John and I have been on good terms as of late. He is between girlfriends at the moment, which is always good news for me. Without them he is happier and willing to spend more time with me.

I must have gotten caught up in my thinking again, because suddenly John is standing over me and pointing at my crotch. "Sherlock, why are you wearing my boxers?"

Damn, I completely forgot about that. Leave it to John to notice something as mundane and domestic as this and get upset over it. "Mrs. Hudson told me 'it's not decent' to walk about in the nude, in _my_ flat."

"_Our_ flat, Sherlock. Which we rent from Mrs. Hudson. Which still does not explain why you have on my boxers."

"Three reasons." I reply, hoping that will end it.

"Enlighten me."

I sigh. One minor mistake and I might have to call off the whole thing for today. "Well, your waist is larger allowing me to wear these more like shorts, reducing the chances Mrs. Hudson will yell at me for only wearing underwear. Two. Yours were closer. And three yours were cleaner."

"What did Mrs. Hudson refuse to do your laundry again?"

I nod. "She said the chemicals on my clothes from my experiments react badly with her detergent and she wasn't about to buy a new washing machine."

"You know it isn't that hard to go somewhere and do them your - oh who am I kidding? You don't even make the coffee."

"I made coffee for you, twice."

"Yeah, and the first time it was drugged."

"No, it wasn't."

"Well, you thought you had drugged – urghhhhh." He grabs the bridge of his nose signaling an oncoming headache. This is in no way good for my plans.

At least three weeks of planning being ruined by an apparent social faux-pas. I wrack my brain. What is the appropriate thing to say in these situations? Times like these make me wish I had two John Watsons that I could observe interacting with each other in order to figure out how to better communicate with him. As it is I have to stick with my own knowledge. So I sit up and start to pull the offending article of clothing down. "Here, you can have them back." His hand on mine stops me.

"No! No, just, you just keep them, now. They're yours."

"Oh, okay. Thank you." I add meekly.

Thankfully John switches topics. "So, why did you call me down? Another case?"

Hmmm, why indeed? My experiment now must be delayed. How to patch this up and perhaps launch the experiment later tonight? Let's see. Ah, yes, judging by the stubble on John's chin and the position of the sun outside the window it is 6:00pm. 6:00, food, dinner. Right, perfect.

"No, no case. What would you like for dinner?"

"Uh, I was thinking Chinese takeaway?"

"Ugh, takeaway? Takeaway is boring."

"Well, if we are going out, you'll need to put on some proper clothes –"

"Not going out, John. Just, what would you like to eat?"

"Hmm, well I have been thinking about shepards pie recently. "

"Okay"

"Okay?" he echoed looking skeptical.

"Well, I'll cook it, obviously."


	2. Chapter 2

Hi all! Thanks to all those who have taken the time to read it! The next chapter is very soon to follow! Please R&R!

Title: In The Name Of

Rating: Overall is M, but this section is PG at most. M because Sex and Drugs. No Rock n' Roll, although I might have Sherlock play something on his violin later.

Pairing: John/Sherlock

Disclaimer: I own nothing, but this laptop.

John snorts, "You? Cook?"

Now, I feel a bit heated. John has seen me do countless experiments requiring very exact measurements and precise calculations. How can he think me incapable of cooking?

"Yes, I mean I have little practical experience, but when I was little I used to watch the kitchen staff. Well, watched until I was banned from the kitchen." I realize belatedly that relaying my childhood frustration on cookery will not win me sympathy with John.

With one eyebrow raised, he asks, "And why were you banned?"

"I don't know! They couldn't appreciate my talent or my unconventional methods. I mean, I set one fire and they ban me for life! It's not like anyone was hurt. And it only burned down the kitchen; the rest of the house was fine."

"Right and I should let you cook now, because?"

"Because I am certain I will have better results now."

John frowns, "Why? What is this for? I have told you. No more experimenting without my informed consent. "

"It is not for any experiment." I try to sound indignant, but it falls flat. John knows me too well. He will never believe that I have suddenly gained an altruistic side. I need a reason, one that he can belie- oh! That's perfect!

"It's for a case."

"You told me you didn't have a new case."

"I don't. Not yet. But there have been three cases of food poisoning this week in three different restaurants. Two are dead and one is critical. All three victims were poisoned from ill-prepared blowfish and they all worked for the same debt collection agency. The restaurant of the most recent poisoning is hiring a cook. I'm thinking of applying as a way to glean more information, but I need more than a passing knowledge of cooking."

John still seems unsure, "And cooking me dinner once will give you enough knowledge to get a job as a chef?"

"Line cook and no. I think cooking for a few more days will give me the knowledge to appear for an interview without seeming suspiciously ignorant." I pause waiting for an objection. Hearing none, I continue, "Okay get a pen and paper and I'll tell you what ingredients I need."

John rolls his eyes, but complies.

The second after he leaves I dash to the computer and look up everything on from basic skills to terms and jargon to creating the cooking environment.

By the time John came back I had, with the use of Mrs. Hudson cleaning supplies, efficiently cleaned the kitchen. Removed all body parts and my experiments. As John gapes at me, I explain, "John, did you know that it's actually hazardous to house human body parts where you eat and cook?" How do normal people do their experiments?"

John's face is a study in conflicting emotions, finally settling on serious, "I don't think normal people do experiments involving body parts."

"Oh, how sad for them then. Are those my ingredients? Great! Now get out! I read somewhere it is better for presentation if you don't watch the cook prepare."

John locks eyes with me, "Okay." He still seems doubtful. "Just in case, I bought you a fire extinguisher."

"Come on, John. I was only 9!"

"Just in case, Sherlock. Plus we should have one anyway. I'm frankly amazed that we don't."

I don't tell him that we did, but it was used by me after one of my tests went awry. Who knew tongues had such low exploding points?

John places the bags on the table. "I got us some dish towels and kitchen utensils that we don't have, which you might need, and uh an apron." I look up as he fidgets with the bag at the mention of the apron, his face flushed. I reach in and pull it out. It's black and as I unroll it the words "Kiss The Cook" become visible in large red letters. I smile. This has the potential of being useful later.

"Oh John, how sweet." I tease.

John gives me a look. "Shut it. It was the only one they had!" He says slightly more defensively than he needs to be.

I don the apron. "How do I look?" I ask, trying to sound neutral. He looks away clearly still embarrassed. Interesting.

"Fine, good." He mutters.

"Okay now leave me to my work," I say as I gesture for him to leave.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for comments and favorites! Keep them coming please! Finally, getting to the fun stuff.

Title: In The Name Of

Rating: Overall is M, but this section is PG-13 for mentions of SEX *gasps*. M because Sex and Drugs happen later. No Rock n' Roll, although I might have Sherlock play something on his violin later.

Pairing: John/Sherlock

Disclaimer: I own nothing, but this laptop.

Cooking is both easier and harder than I had expected for exactly the same reasons. In chemistry, even the slightest miscalculation can bring about disaster. Whereas on the offset, cooking looks to have this same level of precision, but it is really a messy and subjective process. Mistakes in cooking usually don't blow up or burn holes in Mrs. Hudson's tables, but they are harder to detect and easier to make. However, on occasion a few mistakes may actually make the food taste better. Luckily John has a relatively simple palate and in terms of difficulty shepherd's pie is no beef wellington. He also picked up extras of all the ingredients; so I was able to get rid of my first few attempts until I have something that looks and smells like shepherd's pie.

I set the table, before I let John back in. Dining placement and etiquette are things I did not have to look up online, despite my best efforts some of Mummy's teachings persist. No matter how I try to delete such pointless information it stubbornly remains grafittied on the wall of the main dining hall in my memory palace.

For the second time today, I make John's jaw drop upon entering the kitchen. "Sherlock this looks truly amazing." Despite my annoyance at John's tendency to over compliment me, having never before been complimented on my cooking prowess, makes me smile. However, after his initial positive reaction John immediately becomes suspicious again. "Are you sure this if for the blowfish case? And not some other experiment in poisoning your flatmate or something?"

Why does John find it so hard to trust me? Why is it so difficult to keep him happy? "Yes it's for the blowfish case and no, I am not trying to poison you." It's not completely a lie, at least. His face relaxes, but only slightly.

Despite this initial skepticism, John seems to really enjoy dinner. As do I. It isn't Mrs. Hudson's level of cuisine mastery, but then again most restaurants can't cook like our beloved landlady. We eat mostly in silence. John relishing a home-cooked meal and me lost in thought.

John's enjoyment of dinner is sufficiently more than the effort it took to make it. I think I shall engage in this activity more often to help keep him in a good mood. God, this must be what all those morons in relationships think. But, then again _that_ is why I am doing this. I am sick of not understanding some of most basic fundamentals in relationships. Sick of having my ignorance used against me. Constantly being hindered in my deductions because of some subtle nuance I fail to grasp. But John is the key to this. Never before have I had a real relationship that wasn't forced on me: brother-brother, mother-son or student-teacher. Although with most of my teachers those labels should have been reversed.

John is my friend. I trust him with my life. He understands the importance of my work. Therefore, he should have no problem engaging in sexual activity with me in order to help me overcome this deficit in my deductive abilities when it comes to sex and the emotions surrounding it.

John interrupts my thoughts. "This is actually quite good. You should cook more often."

"For the next few days at least, I plan to. Oh, perhaps we could bake a cake and send it to Mycroft. If I recall correctly, coconut is his favorite."

John chuckles. "Or invite Greg, err, Lestrade 'round for dinner sometime. It would blow his mind finding out you made it." I giggle at the mental image. It's so refreshing to see John relax like this.

Afterwards we move to the sofa with our coffee to presumably watch some crap telly. But before he even reaches for the remote, I make my move. "John, I have hit a block in my studies on human behavior. The importance of this knowledge has become much more prominent on our last two cases. But nothing I read, watch, study helps me understand. I was wondering if you could assist me." I say keeping my voice neutral and disinterested sounding.

John looks quizzical. "Sure, if I can. What aspect of human behavior exactly?"

"The interdynamics of human coupling and hormonal response and the consequences these have on everyday life."

John looks blank and takes a sip of coffee.

"Sex, John. I'm talking about sex."

John chokes mid-swallow, coughing violently. "You see?" I gesture to him as proof of my inadequacy.

"What? No! No, Sherlock. I don't see at all."

"Look, I cannot even bring up the subject without causing you to choke. I need help, John. I need _your_ help."

John sets down the coffee and stares at me. "Wait, you're asking me to have sex…..with you?"

"Well, yes eventually. We wouldn't start with that, obviously."

"Right, so you are saying you have feelings for me then?"

"What? No! What do feelings have to do with this? It's for the work. For the cases, obviously."

"Cases?" Judging from his lost expression, it isn't obvious to John.

"Yes the cases. Sex is one of the greatest motivators for violence, jealously, rash acts, revenge, deep bitterness. I have dealt with it as a cause or part of a causal chain in countless cases. I always assumed that my professional and emotional detachment coupled with my deductive abilities not only served lead me to the correct conclusions in my cases, but that it also got me to those conclusions faster and with more clarity than those around me bogged down with their own emotional turmoils. And I have always been proven right except recently. Moriarty told The Woman how to play me. Especially, by using this 'lack of field research' against me so effectively I cannot help but see it as a weakness now."

"So, Mycroft was telling the truth when he made that crack at you for being a virgin?"

"Yes, he can read it off me. Not like I would ever volunteer such information."

John looks at me in disbelief. "Really? Never even once?"

"No. Is it really so hard to believe?"

John looks me up and down and says in a way I am fairly sure is a slight insult , "No, not really. But why me? Why not get a hooker or have a one night stand like everyone else does?"

Cause I'm not like everyone else, I want to say. But instead I go with, "No, I couldn't guarantee they were clean and I wouldn't feel anything for them." This isn't going at all as I hoped it would.

"Wait, wait, wait. You don't have feelings for me, but you don't want to have sex with a stranger because you won't have feelings for them?"

"Exactly." Oh perhaps, he understands now.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you on about?" Or not. Damn, how to explain.

"John, of course I have feelings for you. I care about you more than I have ever cared about another human being. You're the only person who has ever voluntarily stayed around me. I need to understand why all this matters so much. From the data I have gathered I have concluded that engaging in sexual activity with someone one does not care about is not gratifying unless you are simply fulfilling some primitive need. Since that need does not apply to me, it must be someone I care about."

"So this is why you've been weirdly nice to me all week."

"I always try to be nice to you, John."

"No, you don't . Oh, oh and this is why you made dinner! Not for some bogus case about bloody blowfish."

"It's not bogus. The incidents are quite real, it just may not have been my primary motivation in making you dinner…" John throws up his hands in exasperation. "I was merely attempting to create a nice atmosphere leading up to me asking you."

"You were setting the mood?" John snorts derisively. "Okay, Sherlock no. I'm going to have to say no. I'm flattered , but no." He stands up, but does not make any motion to leave.

His rejection hurts. His tone too. It actually hurts me. Perhaps this means that my experiment is already in progress just by my initial asking. This prospect lifts my spirits slightly.

"Why not?" I ask still managing to retain my calm façade.

"Well, to begin with, I'm not gay, Sherlock."

"What does that matter? Neither am I. I've done research online and you could be bisexual or homoromantic or perhaps you are straight and I happen to be the one exception since we are so close or it could purely be a friends with benefits situation or-"

"Sherlock, Sherlock. Stop. If you were anyone else I would've walked away by now. This is not going to happen."

"Why not?" So much for remaining controlled. I sound whiny, needy almost. "I know you haven't had intercourse with your three previous girlfriends. I know that the longer without sex you go the more distracted and irritable you become. Even on a case. So this is a benefit for you as well as me. Plus you care for me deeply so why shouldn't this work?"

"Because I'm saying no."

"But my argument is completely valid."

"Yes, but validity does not matter in arguments involving sex and love."

"Okay fine, then help me to see that." I sit up straighter on the sofa looking up at him. My cheeks are flushed. Not from the argument, but from the fact I feel fairly ridiculous. What grown man pleads with another grown man, his best- well only friend, to shag him? I assume not a statistically significant number. And I'm hardly John's type. I see what he goes for in women and I would have difficulties pulling off that look in even one of my better disguises. And without it? I normally try my best not to think about my looks, but growing up everyone else made sure to point them out. I'm too pale, too skinny, my hair is too curly, I have a horse-face, I don't blink enough, etc.

"Do you find me unattractive?" I blurt out and immediately resist the urge to put my hand over my mouth. I had not meant to say that. I know I sound like a teen girl on one of those horrible sitcoms John leaves on.

He looks at me sharply, but his features soften when he realizes the question wasn't somehow meant as a trap. I must appear pathetic, because he sits back down on the couch next to me. Instead of maintaining a physical distance as I expected him to, he actually takes my hands in his. The moment he touches me a thrill runs through me. I shut my eyes briefly against it and open them to see his darker blue ones looking serious. I note how warm his hands are against mine which stay perpetually cold no matter the season.

"Sherlock it doesn't matter if I think you're attractive or not. We're best mates. Anything we might do could ruin that." I take a breath to speak, but John gives me a look that preemptively silences any interruption. "I know what you are saying, though I don't understand it. But, I don't think you do either."

His words confuse me. Understand it? Of course, I understand it. It's my experiment. John's observing me closely and responds as if he had been reading my thoughts.

"Remember after you saw the hound in Dewar's Hollow? You were scared, you were shaking."

"I had been drugged."

"Yes, but you still felt emotion and didn't know how to handle it. You said it yourself. That you separate yourself, emotionally detach from the situation. But this experiment would combine those two halves of yourself. Do you really think you can handle sex when you couldn't handle a make-believe dog?"

"I was drugged" I repeat.

"Yea and so was I. The fear was drug induced, but that doesn't mean it wasn't real. It doesn't mean you weren't afraid." John looks down at his hands still holding mine and promptly removes them. "I'm going to bed." He announces as he stands up.

I look up at him, feeling disconcertingly vulnerable. He must see it too, for his next words are an obvious attempt to soothe. "I'm not mad, Sherlock. Okay?"

"Okay." I mumble.

"Goodnight, Sherlock." He says as he heads upstairs. I don't bother responding; already I am deep in thought over what has just occurred.


End file.
